


Condor Cravings

by GrumpyGhostOwl



Category: Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman & Related Fandoms, Kagaku Ninja Tai Gatchaman | Science Ninja Team Gatchaman
Genre: Food, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyGhostOwl/pseuds/GrumpyGhostOwl
Summary: This story was inspired by Ayako's post to the BotP Mailing List way back when regarding spaghetti in 1970's Japan. Written in the late 1990s, retrieved from a dark corner of my hard drive all these years later. It's been a long, tiring mission and Joe wants Italian food... in Utoland City on a Tuesday. What are his chances?





	Condor Cravings

Ken signed off and lowered his wrist.

 "Jun's set the charges," he told Joe.  "Let's get out of here."

The Condor followed his leader back through the base, gun at the ready.  They paused, shrinking into the shadows afforded by a gantry as a Galactor patrol raced by, responding to the steady shriek of the intruder alarm.

A low gurgling growl sounded from the vicinity of Joe's midriff.

It had been a long mission:  the Bird Scramble had sounded just after midnight, the _GodPhoenix_ had flown for hours, searching, patrolling, looking for the reported Galactor base, and they had spent the morning searching for a way in.  It was now coming up for fifteen hundred hours, and nobody, even Ryu, had eaten a thing.  Jinpei would be hypo by now and quite dangerous until someone gave him something with sugar in it.

The two ninjas dashed across the hangar bay to where Jun and Jinpei were waiting.

 "Let's go!" Jun urged.

Gunfire roared towards them, and the Kagaku Ninja Tai scattered.  Ken's birdrang sang its deadly song as it cut through the air, Jinpei's bolos whirred, and Jun's yo-yo struck home with bone-crunching accuracy as Joe fired round after round, making each one count.

The Condor's stomach grumbled again.

A distant detonation shook the base, and the ninja team took advantage of the momentary lull in the fighting to make a dash for the exit.  The Galactors seemed to think this was a wise move, and did likewise.

Ryu had the _GodPhoenix_ standing by, and the team were soon reunited on the bridge as the warship climbed away from the shock wave as the base power plant took itself out in a massive explosion.  In the distance, Berg Katse's escape ship left a bright white arcing contrail in the air.

 _"Garrrrrrrrrrrrrowllll_ ," said Joe's gastrointestinal tract.

 "I know exactly how you feel," Ryu addressed the Condor's belly.

 "Shut up, Ryu," Joe snarled.

Then, lacking the energy for any more sniping, he settled into his chair.  Yes, a late brunch would be nice... late brunch/early dinner/whatever... FOOD would be nice.  The Condor, scourge of Galactors everywhere, the dark bird of death, sighed wistfully.  Not miso soup or noodles or sashimi or rice... _real_ food, like Mama used to make... _cacciatore al pollo, fettucine marinara, penne al forno..._ sun dried tomatoes, big juicy green olives... onion, garlic, basil... extra virgin olive oil drizzled over roasted bell peppers, fresh shaved romano and parmesan, marinated artichoke hearts and eggplant... _antipasto_ with sausage... home made potato _gnocchi_ , baked with fresh tomato and basil... Real food.   He'd be spending a chunk of his pay at _Salvatore's Trattoria_ , tonight.

 

 

Joe stared aghast at the sight that greeted him.

" **CLOSED**."

So final.  So impossible to argue with.

The _Trattoria_ was closed.

Joe sighed for the second time that day.  Of course.  It was Tuesday.  Salvatore always closed on Tuesdays.

 "Kuso," he muttered under his breath, and his stomach rumbled in agreement.

There was always the Snack J... maybe Jinpei could come up with something.

 

 

 "I can't even pronounce them, let alone make them!" Jinpei said dubiously.  "But let's take a look and see what's in the kitchen."

The Condor followed the Great Swallow Jinpei into the kitchen of the Snack J, and peered hopefully into the pantry.

Seaweed, rice, noodles, rice, shoyu, rice, crackers, rice, wasabe, rice...

Joe sighed.

Not a sun-dried tomato -- or any variety of tomato for that matter -- in sight.

 "Bottle of ketchup, Joe-aniki?" Jinpei suggested weakly.

 "No, thanks," Joe said disconsolately.

 "What are you looking for?" Jun's voice carried from the counter.

 "Anything even remotely Italian," Joe replied.  "It doesn't even have to be Sicilian.  Anything -- tomato paste, cannelloni -- a jar of olives!"

 "I think there's a packet of some kind of pasta in the back of the pantry," Jun said.  "Jinpei, look right at the back, behind the peanut oil."

Jinpei crammed his head and shoulders into one of the shelves, and emerged triumphant.

 "Fett-uh-kyne," he read the label.

 " _Fettucine_ ," Joe corrected.  "No tomato paste?"

 "No tomato paste," Jinpei affirmed sadly.

 "Oh, I know," Jun called out, "I think I may have the ingredients to make _fettucine alfredo_ , Joe!"

 "You know how to make _fettucine alfredo_ , Jun?" Joe asked, unable to conceal his astonishment.

 "Don't look so dumbfounded," Jun told him darkly.  "I have a recipe.  Take a seat out front and wait.  Go!"

Joe found himself shooed out of the pantry and sat down to await his dinner.  
   
 

 "I can't find the parmesan... oh, wait... here..."  Jinpei rummaged again and came up with a plastic jar containing about a tablespoon of what looked like powdered yellow poster paint.  He twisted the lid off, sniffed, and recoiled.  "Ugh!  It's gone rotten!"

Jun retrieved the canister and took a cautious sniff.

 "No, that's how it's supposed to smell... I think," she said dubiously.

 "Eeewwww!  Onechan, it smells like it's been dead for a week!" Jinpei opined, wrinkling his nose.

 "European food," Jun shrugged.  "Who can understand it?"

Jinpei set to boiling water for the fettucine.

 "This part's easy enough," he decided.  "What are you doing, there, Onechan?"

 "Well," Jun explained, running the tip of an index finger down a page in a largely unused cook book, "it says here to melt half a cup of butter in a pan... we don't have any butter, but... well, let's see... butter is fat, and so is lard, so if we substitute half a cup of lard, that should do."

Jinpei scampered to fetch the lard, and Jun put it in the pan.  Slowly, ever so slowly, the white fat began to change state.

 "Now, what, Onechan?" Jinpei wanted to know, peering at the faded lettering on the cook book, which had belonged to the Snack's previous owner.

 "A cup of cream," Jun read.

 "We have cream for the coffee," Jinpei said happily.  "I'll get it."

 "An egg yolk," Jun recited.

 "I'd better do that," Jinpei said, and proceeded to separate an egg.

 "This lard isn't melting very well," Jun decided.  "I'll turn the heat up."

Jinpei, concentrating on the task at hand, didn't hear her.

As Jun turned the flames up high under the pan she was using to melt the lard, Jinpei slipped the egg yolk from its shell into a small sauce dish and left it within Jun's reach as he returned to the fettucine and stirred it in its pot.

Jun took the jug of cream and began to blend it with her butter substitute.

The lard spat and sizzled.

 "Ouch!" the Swan exclaimed, and hastily slammed a lid on the pan.

A few moments later, she cautiously peeked under the lid, and then tipped the dry parmesan into the mixture and watched as it melted into lumps amidst the spitting contents.

 "Is it supposed to do that?" Jinpei asked, frowning.

 "Who knows?" Jun shrugged.  "I've never cooked anything Italian before."

The cream clotted into whitish lumps suspended in the clear lard with pungent yellow specks of cheese.  Jinpei drained the fettucine and dumped it into a warm dish.

Jun dropped the egg yolk into the pan, put the lid back on, and turned to Jinpei.

 "Is that done already?"

 "Yes, Onechan.  All we need now is the sauce, right?"

 "Right."

Jun turned back to the alfredo sauce, lifting the lid off and setting it aside.

The egg yolk had denatured into a solid yellow lump.

Jun poked at it with her spoon, and decided to break it up and stir it through.  
   
 

At his table, nibbling at some rice crackers and finding them unsatisfying and, in the mood he was in, almost an affront to his palate, Joe Asakura sniffed the air.

It was redolent of lard, with just a hint of the rancid sweaty-socks bouquet that was pre-packaged powdered parmesan cheese.

 " _Arrowowowowowowowoowow--galooooop_!" protested his stomach.

Joe began to worry.

 

 

 "Well, really!"  Jun folded her arms and glared at the swinging door of the Snack, through which the Condor had recently departed in a state of gastronomic umbrage.  "It may not have been as good as his mother used to make, but there was no need to be so rude!"

 "Onechan," Jinpei ventured, grimacing, holding the wooden spoon that still bore the evidence, "he's right.  This is disgusting."

 "Well, how am I to know?" Jun demanded.  "Italian food is all Greek to me!"

 

 

In his trailer, the cupboard bare, Joe brooded over his coffee.  He was hungry.  Extremely hungry, and what he wanted was pasta.  Lots of it, with a rich tomato based sauce and lots of garlic and herbs, all cooked with lashings of extra virgin olive oil.  He didn't care whether it was _Bolognese, Napolitana_ or _marinara_ just so long as it was good old fashioned Italian.

He wondered, longingly, if he could hop a UN dead-head flight bound for Rome or Naples and get some decent food before making his way home... Somehow, he didn't see Hakase being terribly sympathetic.  Hakase's favourite dish was cellophane noodles with a side of raw squid liberally doused in shoyu and wasabe... A shudder ran down Joe's spine.

And he sighed.

Again.

 

 

It was hard to tell which was rumbling louder:  the engine or the stomach, both of which belonged, nominally in the first instance, and biologically in the second, to Joe Asakura.

The Condor was beginning to resign himself to the concept of frozen supermarket pizza, which was, in his opinion, better than going hungry, but not by much.

He had driven all around Utoland City in search of an Italian _ristorante_ , _trattoria_ or _cafeteria_ , which were few and far between at the best of times, and mostly closed on a quiet Tuesday, when few Utolanders would be out and about and seeking the gastronomic novelty of Italian cuisine.  He'd tried the supermarkets, most of which were closed by now, but they stocked little in the way of tomato paste or bell peppers, zucchini or oregano, basil, marjoram, sage or parsley, and anyway, Joe had never really acquired much in the way of actual cooking skills, and none of the young women of his acquaintance had much more idea of how to cook Italian food than had Jun.

Supermarket pizza.  Yech.

 " _Arrrrrrrrrroogle-oogle-oogle-oogle_ ," Joe's stomach agreed loudly.

There was a twenty-four hour market a few blocks from the ISO building.  Joe drove into the carpark, negotiating his way around the odd abandoned shopping cart and the tired, frazzled office workers grabbing last-minute groceries on the way home.

After a few minutes of painfully slow driving, cussing and general frustration, Joe found a parking space that suited his requirements -- not too narrow, not on a downslope, away from the footpath, nowhere near any Volvos -- and secured his car.  
   
 

Inside, shopping basket slung over one lean, corded arm, as the piped muzak system played the elevator version of The Doors' _People are Strange_ , the Condor stalked the aisles.

There was "instant" spaghetti on the shelves, the brittle, pre-packaged kind that splintered and cracked... it could be boiled into submission, of course, like Jun's ill-fated fettucine, and maybe, if he purchased enough candy for bribes, and bought Ken dinner at the J so Jun could be distracted from anything even remotely connected with cooking, he could persuade Jinpei to make an alfredo sauce that wouldn't make him violently ill...

 " _Grrrrrrrloople-oople-oople,_ " his stomach complained.

No, after what had been set before him a few hours earlier, he really didn't fancy _fettucine alfredo_.

The freezer section had to be around here, somewhere.

There.  Joe contemplated the long row of glass and stainless steel with some trepidation.  It looked like something out of some weird science fiction movie.

 " _Arrrrrrrowowowowowowowwwwww,_ " moaned the Asakura digestive system.

Frozen fish -- nope.

Frozen fish -- nope.

Frozen sushi -- nope.

Frozen fish -- nope.

Frozen vegetables -- nope.

Frozen fish -- nope.

Frozen tofu -- _definitely_ nope.

Frozen pizza -- " **This item temporarily out of stock** "

But wait!  Joe breathed a sigh of relief.  That was only the Supreme.  There was another variety available...

Ham and pineapple.

_Kuso!_

Joe's communicator beeped.

_Oh, no... not a Bird Scramble.  Not now..._

He glanced around to make sure he wasn't too conspicuous, and raised his wrist.

 "G-2."

 " _G-2, this is G-1,_ " Ken's voice sounded crisp and urgent.  " _Report to the ISO building immediately_."

 "Roger."

Wearily, Joe abandoned his shopping basket, left the market, and got into his car.  Someone had left a cart behind it, and he was obliged to get out and shift the blasted thing before driving away.

The ISO building wasn't far away.  He parked in his allotted space and took the elevator.  Tired.  He stifled a yawn and listened to his stomach complaining.  It sounded better than the elevator muzak, anyway...

Ken was waiting for him in the lobby.

 "This way," the Eagle directed briskly, and Joe followed, too tired and hungry to argue.

It was only after several minutes that Joe realised they weren't heading for Nambu's office.

 "What gives?" he asked, suddenly alert.

 "We're meeting in another room, tonight," Ken explained.  "Come on, the others are waiting."

Joe pulled up short.

He could smell... garlic.  And oregano... and basil.

 "What's going on?" he demanded.

 "Only one way to find out," Ken told him.

The ISO staff cafeteria was pretty much deserted.

Jun was setting five places at one of the tables, and out from the kitchen area, Jinpei and Ryu wheeled out a large trolley with a big covered dish on it, a big covered dish which gave off a wonderfully aromatic smell.

Ken guided Joe to his seat while Jun poured a glass of _Lambrusco_.

 "This was all we could find at short notice, Joe," she explained.

Jinpei set a dish on the table and whipped off the cover with a flourish.

 "Ta-dah!" he announced, revealing a steaming plate of _spaghetti bolognese_.

 "How...?" Joe stammered.

 "Eat up, before it gets cold," Ryu urged, "or before I polish it off," he added, with a grin.

Joe dished out a large serving and began to eat as the others did likewise.

 "How did you do this?" he wanted to know.

 "I felt bad after this afternoon," Jun told him, "so Jinpei and I did an internet search and found a recipe for what looked like authentic Italian spaghetti.  We closed the J and went shopping, and what we couldn't find at the stores Hakase was able to get for us here in the commissary -- it is the _International_ Science Organization, after all."

 "Then Jinpei and I," Ryu said, swallowing a mouthful of pasta, "did the cooking."

 "I stayed well out of it," Jun said ruefully.

Ken picked at his food, toying with it rather than eating it.

 "Hey Ken," Joe said, "what's eating you?"

 "I don't know..." Ken sipped at a glass of water.  "I have this craving for a hamburger with a side of fries..."

He ducked as the others threw their napkins at him.


End file.
